So, this is a story, called Kidnapped, that's sat on my computer for a few years now. To tell the truth, it is with great reluctance that I put this up for adoption. I love the premise that I developed for it. The problem was that, once I hit the end of the second chapter, seen below, I honestly didn't know how to continue it. Heck, I couldn't even decide on a romantic pairing, or even whether or not I wanted to include one.

That said, I love the idea too much to continue to just let it set on my computer and languish, hence why I'm putting it up for adoption. I sincerly hope that someone decided to take it up.

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I Do Not Own Harry Potter or Black Lagoon

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Prologue

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he stepped out of the floo and into his office.

He had just returned from Privet Drive, where Harry Potter had disappeared. As if that wasn't bad enough, he'd watched as the muggle authorities carried out the bodies of Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley.

His only consolation was that the muggles were killed by muggle means, a gun he believed the device was called. He wasn't sure what the 9 millimeter meant, but each of the Dursleys had been killed by it.

Looking over at the devices Harry had destroyed after Sirius' death, he wished he had some way to track him. But that device had been destroyed.

Without that, he had no idea where to even send Fawkes.

He knew Harry didn't do it. Apparently none of the Dursley's were missing an ear, and an ear, which was too big to be Harry's, had been found at the house. It apparently looked like it had been bitten off.

The old headmaster could only pray Harry had survived, and would find some way to contact him or his friends. In the meantime, his owl Hedwig had disappeared, and the Headmaster had gathered his belongings, minus Harry's wand which was missing (he assumed Harry had it with him).

He hoped he got the chance to return them.

Chapter 1

The woman known as Balalaika sat patiently at her desk. The blonde woman's faithful second in command, Boris, stood in the room with her.

Balalaika was silent, smoking a cigar, her blue eyes staring at the phone.

What she was waiting for, Boris had no idea.

It all began earlier today, when a package had arrived for the blonde. Inside (they had checked before giving the package to their leader) was a sealed vial of blood, and a letter. No one had read the letter, they were too loyal for that, but they had delivered the package.

After getting it, and reading the letter, Balalaika had ordered a car prepared. She, along with Boris and a couple other men, had then gone to the hospital. What Balalaika had done there was a mystery, even to Boris. After their return, Balalaika had ordered her guards back to their usual post, and sequestered herself, with Boris, in her office.

She and Boris had been in the office since.

"Ma'am?" he finally questioned.

Sharp blue eyes cut to him, and Boris noticed a strange look in her eyes. It was a look he had only seen when she well and truly pissed, not just 'I'm going to kill you' pissed, but 'I'm going to make you wish for death before I mercifully give it to you' pissed.

"Sergeant," she responded, giving him permission to continue.

"Is everything alright?" he finally asked, knowing he needed to speak carefully.

"No," the woman responded coldly. And Boris wanted to flinch under her gaze, but managed to suppress the urge.

Before Boris could question further, the phone rang. Balalaika picked it up before the first ring ended. Holding the phone to her ear she asked, "Well?"

Whatever was being told to his Kapitan, Boris knew it was serious as he watched her visibly harden before his eyes.

"I see, thank you doctor. I trust you'll make sure all proof is of course lost." Boris could tell from the tone of her voice that if his Kapitan got any hint the doctor she was talking to didn't do as instructed, he'd be a dead man. "Excellent. Thank you for your services doctor." With that she hung up the phone.

Balalaika was silent a moment, Boris knew she was putting together a plan. After a few moment's she said, "Sergeant."

"Yes Kapitan?"

"Assemble the Visotoniki," she instructed.

"Right away," he acknowledged.

Turning to leave the office, Boris admitted to himself he was curious about what was happening. It wasn't every day the Kapitan was prepared to unleash hell.

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Boris, along with the Visotoniki and several other men were gathered in the conference room, waiting for Balalaika. When she walked in, everyone stood at attention.

"Gentlemen," the head of Hotel Moscow began, "today I will be meeting with Santino at a warehouse down on Pleasant Street," she pointed at the exact location on the map of Roanapur behind her, before turning back to her men. "I will be going in alone." Before anyone could protest, Balalaika held up her hand for silence, and continued, "Sergeant Boris, you will be in command while I am in the warehouse. I want that place surrounded. Nothing gets in or out without you having a shot at it. I do not know how many men Santino will have with him, but none of them leave that warehouse alive. That said, Santino is not to be killed. You may wound him to prevent him from fleeing, but he is to be taken alive."

Balalaika paused, to ensure her orders were understood. Taking a deep breath she continued. "There will be a boy present, a young man not yet out of his teens. I don't know what kind of condition he is in, but he is our primary objective. You are to get him out alive, even if it means leaving me to die."

At the stunned look on her men's faces, Balalaika said, "You have thirty minutes to get in place."

Turning, she walked out of the room, without giving her men time to question her.

There was a literal deadline after all.

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Harry Potter glared up at his kidnappers.

The fifteen, almost sixteen, year old young man was covered in filth and blood from the man he had bit the ear off of. After that, as well as two escape attempts (during which he always managed to injure someone), he was chained and muzzled, literally. And it was deemed too much of a risk to allow him to shower.

He was sure the only reason they allowed him to use the toilet was they didn't want to deal with the mess of him shitting and pissing himself.

What the raven haired youth didn't understand was what the hell they wanted him for.

At first, he'd thought they worked for Voldemort, and were taking him to him. But in the time since his capture, he hadn't seen one bit of magic used. Hell, he'd woken up aboard a plane for crying out loud. All he'd managed to overhear from his captors was how much of a bastard he was, how dangerous he was (he reckoned that was from when he shoved the end of the handcuffs he'd managed to pick open into one of the men's crotch), and wondering what Balalaika would do.

What the fuck was a Balalaika?

Regardless, the young wizard took his emerald eyes off of his kidnappers. They'd replaced the handcuffs, using rope and complicated knots instead, on top of the muzzle he was wearing. And while it was easier for Harry to pick a lock (it was a skill he'd learned early in life thanks to the Dursley's), he knew he could cut the rope.

He just needed to find something to use.

He didn't have long to look, as soon one of his kidnappers came over and ordered, "Get up brat!" as he roughly picked Harry up to stand on his feet. The man then ordered, "Walk!" shoving him forward, and causing the young man to stumble.

Cussing the man out in his brain, since he couldn't even open his mouth thanks to the muzzle, Harry did as told.

If only he had his wand. He'd show these men just how dangerous he could be.

He was lead down the hallway, and out into a, relatively clear, warehouse. Several people were standing in what was roughly the center of the massive room. A group, six men, all with olive skin and wearing suits, stood together. Harry smirked slightly at the glare one, the one he'd bitten the ear off of, sent at him.

About ten meters away from the group stood a lone woman. With long blond hair, and a scar Harry could see clearly from even this distance covering the right side of her face. She wore what looked like a military overcoat, on top of a burgundy dress-suit. There was something intimidating about her. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and she didn't look very happy.

Yet from the moment Harry had entered her line of sight, she hadn't taken her eyes off of him.

"There you go," one man, probably the leader of the group that kidnapped him, said. "Proof of life. Now are you gonna do what you're told now? Or do we have to rough up the brat?"

"It looks like he's already roughed up," the woman spoke, and Harry could hear the displeasure in her voice. "But how do I know he's who you claim?" she asked. "That muzzle conceals his face too much."

Before the previous speaker could say anything, the man that was missing an ear yelled, "Like hell we're taking that mask off the fucker!"

"Enzo!" the apparent leader spoke harshly, reprimanding the man. "Fry-Face is correct," he smirked at the blonde woman as he said it.

"But Boss…"

"Enough," the man commanded. "Take off the muzzle."

Harry felt the man that escorted him undo the lock on the back of his head, before removing the muzzle. Harry couldn't help but open his mouth and move his jaw around a bit. It was stiff as hell, and felt great after being in that muzzle for so long. "Finally," he muttered, right before he was smacked.

"Shut up!" the man that struck him ordered.

Harry couldn't resist a smirk. Despite his position, this wasn't the first time he'd been in danger. And as intimidating as they were, these guys had nothing on Voldemort, Death Eaters, a sixty foot basilisk, a dragon, and certainly nothing on dementors. "Afraid I'll bite off another ear," he asked, purposely goading the man, and earning himself another smack.

Once everyone had righted themselves, he looked at the woman again, before his eyes fell onto his captors.

"Satisfied?" the Boss Man, asked.

"Yes I am Santino," the woman said. With a sigh she continued, "I guess I have no choice. You said twenty-thousand a week, yes?" she asked, reaching into her jacket.

The man, now identified as Santino, smirked. "Yes, it's a pleasure doing…" the man's eyes widened when instead of the envelope of money he was expecting, the woman whipped out a pistol and fired six shots in rapid succession.

Each of his men fell dead, including the man holding Harry.

"What the fuck!" Santino yelled, reaching for his own gun. He stopped when a bullet struck the ground in front of him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, you fucking dago," the woman sneered with clear contempt in her voice as she walked towards the man. As she walked, she kept her gun leveled at him.

Without looking away from Santino, she asked, "Are you alright?"

Seeing as the question was clearly aimed at him, Harry answered, "Sore and tied up, but yeah." He moved his jaw again, did he mention how nice it was to have that muzzle off. "Though I wouldn't mind it if someone told me just what the bloody hell I'm doing here?"

"In time," the blonde assured him, reaching into her jacket with her free hand, this time she pulled out a radio. Turning it on with two fingers, she pressed down on the button and asked, "Sergeant?"

"Kapitan." A voice on the other end, clearly heard in the now silent warehouse, confirmed.

"You can come in now," the blonde informed, before putting the radio away.

Almost immediately, several armed men, dressed in combat attire and carrying a variety of weapons entered. One, with short hair and a scar across his face, approached the blonde.

"How many men were outside?" the blonde asked.

The scared man said, "Thirteen, they were easily dealt with."

The blonde nodded. "Very well. Someone cut him loose," she gestured towards Harry. Almost immediately, he felt his bonds cut, and Harry gratefully began rubbing his wrists.

She walked towards him, finally lowering her gun from Santino. Not that the man would try anything with every gun besides hers pointing at him. "I know you have questions," she told him. "I'll answer them in the morning. In the meantime, I have a," she glanced at Santino, "mess to clean up." Her blue eyes turned back to him. "And you need to be checked over for any injuries. My men will escort you back to our headquarters, there you will receive medical attention, a hot meal, and a bed to sleep in. I would also suggest a shower," she added, as if she was only now noticing the grime and dried blood on him. "Mennshof! Sakharov!"

Two men stepped forward. "Yes Kapitan!" one man, a blonde, said.

"Take him back to the hotel and treat any injuries he has. Ensure he gets a hot meal and show him to a room close to my own," she instructed.

"Yes Kapitan."

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The two men lead Harry to a car. And one, the blonde, climbed into the backseat with him, as the brown haired one sat in the driver's seat.

"So, I don't suppose either of you can tell me how I ended up involved in all this?" he asked.

The blonde shook his head. "I am afraid not," he informed. "The Kapitan has not informed any of us why what happened tonight has." Smiling slightly he said, "I am Sakharov, that is Mennshof," he gestured to the man just starting the car.

"Harry Potter," Harry introduced himself.

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Later that night, long after Harry had collapsed into a very large and comfortable bed, Balalaika and the rest of her men returned to the Hotel they used as their base of operations.

Balalaika immediately made her way to the office, where Mennshof and Sakharov were waiting.

Even as she walked into the office she asked, "What did you find?"

She'd chosen to send the boy with the two men because Mennshof had been their field medic, and would easily be able to treat any injuries that weren't so serious as to require surgery. And Sakharov was a generally friendly individual, though you wouldn't know it at times.

"A few bruises and scrapes," Mennshof reported. "But generally the boy's healthy, even if he's had a hard life."

Her eyes flashed as she sat behind her desk. "What makes you say that?"

"He's got multiple scars on his body," Sakharov replied, having been with Mennshof when he examined Harry. "His back looks like it's been whipped, though he has a fairly large scar that looks like something cut into it there as well. Not to mention what looks like a stab scar on his right bicep, and a few others. His left hand has the words 'I must not tell lies,' carved into it."

Balalaika sat back in her chair. After a moment of silence, she asked, "Did he tell you his name?"

"Harry Potter ma'am."

"You're dismissed," she instructed.

The two men saluted the woman, before leaving the room. Once they were gone, Balalaika closed her eyes and took a breath.

She wondered how many would get her message

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At the same time as Balalaika was in her office, a black car dumped a naked body in front of the Yellow Flag Bar.

It was a well frequented place, and within hours, the whole city would know the fate of the body.

Santino Verrocchio, head of the Italian mafia in Roanapur, was found dead by the bar's patrons. His genitals, pole and tackle, had been shoved into his mouth. And two words were carved into his chest in Russian.

Later examination would show the words were carved when he was still alive, and that he died of asphyxiation, choking on his own cock.

Translated, the words read: Made Personal

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Chapter 2

Harry woke up the next morning, and ate breakfast in the dining hall with the other Russians. Sakharov joined him and the two chatted about meaningless things while they ate.

One important thing he learned was that they were all ex-military. He also learned that their Kapitan, the blonde and scarred woman, was called Balalaika.

After eating, the man with the scar across his face called Sergeant, although Sakharov added Boris to the name when he greeted him, escorted Harry to an office.

The office was elegant. With polished wood panels, and decorated in creams and reds. An equally elegant and imposing desk sat in front of a wall of books

And behind that desk sat Balalaika.

She was watching him, her blue eyes assessing. A cigar rested in her mouth, and she gestured to the couches in front of her desk. Taking the cigar out of her mouth, she said, "Please, take a seat."

Harry did as instructed. Before he could ask anything, Balalaika turned to Boris. "You may as well stay Sergeant. I know you and the men want to know what happened last night. After I finish telling my story however, you will leave so Harry and I can have some privacy."

"Of course," he acknowledged.

Taking a drag of her cigar, Balalaika set in down in an ashtray on her desk, and leaned forward. "Harry, before I begin, I need you to agree not to interrupt me," she told him. "I promise, I will answer your questions when I'm done, but for now, I need you to be silent. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," he acknowledged, nodding his head as he said the words.

The blonde woman sat back in her chair. "The events leading up to last night, began almost sixteen years ago," she began. "I was a teenager myself. I was raised by my grandfather Harry, a Marshal in the Soviet Army. He was a proud man…and when I found myself pregnant, he was furious. After I gave birth, he took my son and placed him up for adoption. I was heartbroken, but I also looked up to my grandfather. And, for multiple reasons, but mostly so that he would not be shamed, he covered it up."

Pausing she continued. "I eventually got over it. And in an effort to restore the pride my grandfather once had in me, I joined the military. No one knew I had given birth, that I was a mother, and I told no one, not even my men. Only my grandfather knew of my shame. By the time I was discharged, I no longer saw my grandfather as the great man I once had. And when he publicly disowned me, I realized he only cared about his own reputation."

"Eventually, I and my men ended up here, the city of Roanapur." She paused and looked at Harry. "If you haven't already figured it out, this is a criminal organization, a branch of the Russian Mafia. We're called Hotel Moscow, and in this city, at least in regards to our particular organization, I am the highest authority. Every organization here is jockeying for power, trying to one up the others and take control of the city. The men who kidnapped you, were members of the Italian Mafia."

She picked up her cigar and took a drag. "I'm not sure how they found out, or how long they searched, but the Italian's discovered my secret."

"Kapitan?" Boris asked stunned.

Harry was looking at the woman equally stunned, having put the pieces together himself.

The blonde grinned. "The reason you were kidnapped Harry, is that you are the son I birthed, the son my grandfather put up for adoption."

The two men were both silent for a moment. Finally, Boris stood up and asked, "Am I allowed to inform the men?"

"Yes," The blonde responded.

With a nod, Boris left the office, leaving mother and son alone.

Harry finally asked, "How do you know I'm your son?"

"Aside from the fact you resemble your father, the Italians sent me a vial of your blood, which I had tested against my own," she explained.

Harry licked his lips. After a moment of silence, he asked, "Did you ever try to look for me?"

"No," Balalaika sighed. Before Harry could question why, she continued, "You need to understand Harry, when I had you, I trusted and idolized my grandfather. I honestly thought he knew best. When I first started questioning that, I was already in the army. What good would finding you be then, I would never be able to be there for you, not really. And until my discharge, I planned on remaining in the Army for the rest of my life. When I was discharged…," she took a breath. "I wasn't in a good place Harry."

She idly gestured to the scar on her face. "I was addicted to the painkillers they had given me in the hospital. And what little money I had went towards those painkillers. Even without the drugs, I would have barely been able to support myself, let alone my child. Plus I believed…hoped, you had a loving family. And tearing you from that would be cruel, especially since you wouldn't have known me. And when I finally managed to drag myself out of that, it was into the mafia. Again, it would have been cruel to take you from a loving family, even though I now had the means to provide for you. Not to mention that you would be in danger, much like you were last night, if my enemies discovered you."

The blonde's face softened. "Make no mistake Harry, I did…do love you. I wanted you. I even came close to trying to find you once. I didn't though, because I didn't know if I had the will NOT to take you if I found you."

"I wish you had," Harry admitted, looking down. "My par…the Potters were killed when I was one. I was sent to…I guess she was my adoptive mother's sister. She and her husband weren't the greatest."

"Which one whipped you?" Balalaika asked.

When Harry looked up, she answered his unasked question, "I was informed as a result of your examination."

Sighing, Harry said, "Vernon, my uncle."

"Are they still alive?"

Harry shook his head. "No, they killed them, and my cousin, when they took me." He took a breath and asked, "What happens now?"

"Now you have a choice Harry. I won't lie to you, I want you to stay here, with me," she explained. "The cat is already out of the bag, so to speak. If the Italians could figure out your connection to me, it's only a matter of time before the others do. With that, I can protect you better if you're close at hand. That said, if you want, I can send you back home, provided you have someone to take you in of course."

Harry was silent as he thought about what to say. He had a mother…a real living mother. And he really wanted to get to know her. But…

"I need to think about it."

"I understand Harry," she acknowledged. Standing from her desk, she said, "Come, I'll take you back to your room."

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Harry sat in his room alone.

He'd been sitting there since lunch. Which was rather awkward, as it seemed every soldier was looking at him. Granted, it was due to who his mother was, but still….

The young man was drawn out of his thoughts by a pecking on the window. Turning, he smiled as he saw his owl Hedwig pecking the window.

And clutched carefully in her talons was his wand.

Standing and walking to the window, he opened it, and allowed his familiar in. Holding out his arm, Hedwig perched upon it, before she dropped his wand into his other hand. Setting the wand aside, he began stroking her feathers. "Good girl Hedwig, you have no idea how good it is to see you."

The owl butted her head against him in affection.

And in that moment, Harry knew what to do.

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Balalaika looked up as her office door opened.

She was pleased to see Harry, but was a bit shocked by the pure white owl he had perched on his arm. As the door was closed behind him, she asked, "I take it you've come to a decision?"

"Yes," he said. Licking his lips, he then added, "I want to get to know you, and to spend time with you. But…I need to show you something first, and explain a few things."

Raising an eyebrow, the blonde woman simply said, "Okay."

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What followed was an explanation about magic, including a practical demonstration to the disbelieving woman. Harry then told her about his time at Hogwarts, his friends, Voldemort, and finally, the prophecy that said he had to kill Voldemort or be killed by Voldemort.

This resulted in him and Balalaika sharing their first hug, as Balalaika promised, "You'll survive Harry, I promise you will survive, no matter what it takes."

"How?" he asked.

Pulling back, to look her son in the eyes, she said, "I'm going to turn you into a Visotoniki. It will be hard. I won't lie, you will wish it was over on the first day. But you will endure. And when you're done, you will survive."

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As Balalaika finished explaining what she wanted to happen, she didn't turn to face her second-in-command.

"Kapitan…you can't be serious?" he questioned.

"I am deadly serious Sergeant," she responded. "I want you to train Harry to be Visotoniki. Show him no mercy and prepare him for war, prepare him for combat, prepare him to kill and destroy without hesitation.

Boris looked at Balalaika. "But…," he sighed. "Yes Kapitan."

"Dismissed."

As soon as Boris left, the blonde turned away. If Boris had remained in the room, he would see the tears on her cheeks and in her eyes.

She'd just given the order to put her son through hell, and condemned him to the same life as she herself was condemned.

But if it meant he would live, she would endure it. He was her son, she loved him.

And because of that, she would put him through hell.

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